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Sara Kellie Jul 2018
A Queen in waiting, a Princess no less.
Each day, a routine before being seen.
For some, a shadow and not of the eye.
The kind you'd find on that of a guy.
An army of pogonophobes in dysphoric confusion.
Each purging our wardrobes,
a repeated delusion.

A leading *******
from a pornographic circus.
The ***** under graduate from
a school of *** workers.
Your Hubby's vision in blue
is our secret down south,
'cause he wouldn't kiss you with
that ***** mouth.

So I'll stop you there Sizzle Chest,
with your cans of Stella
in your pristine white vest,
'cause this is real easy,
even for you Mr ******.

I used to be a Princess but
now I'm a Queen,
recently coronated
after all that I've seen.

Poetry by Kaydee.
Hazy musings from a land of candy pink
are the dreams of a Princess.
Robin Carretti Aug 2018
Where do we meet
    Oh! No He_*
Getting onto
the next courses
Oh La- La "Cheri"
K>ANSAS>>City

_ Prime spot pretty

 let's >- jump ))) To Love
Please raise the horses

What a skirt steak in her
Petticoat Junction
Going to Kansas City affection
Different tribe or breed
What needs to love me
tender Elvis meet Beavis Buthead
    More  T.L.C  
computer DOC Tick Tock
IRS taking a meat beef
chunk is everybody drunk
IOS what is really the meat
Business Politician Trump

Subscribe well done
Cooked or rare spooked
Taking a Spin City kick
She got canned and licked
The prime meat hot seat

The ******* who arrives
first class steak knifes
Ms. Pork hard chew 
Mr. Beans second rate
Dark pumpernickel
Saloon *******, he
is eating
The young tender
chicken leg

High five thigh? Hands
up Robin Fly
Save the meat "let it be"
  "Let it Be" Beatles
The beat Colonel deep fried
Grade A rare meat slicing

Eating in a board meeting
The pig meat market
of pricing

Doe a deer
he loves
International beer
A very sensitive time
Slaughterhouse no way out
His poker face meets
potato heads beef jerky
Surrender Weds
maple smiles picky
The rich Syrup
Disney Mickey Mouse
Kansas City Wonder
meat house

The beauty of animals
"Moms kettle she is talking
to Parrots" meat
the market for rings riot
Six enemies making
6 rounds
Six servants 666 carats
Robin smiles heartily
"Campbells Chicken" little


He's the Beef Man stew
If you only knew

He's spitting tobacco chew
She peels the potato for the
meathead bad to the
T-bone Dachshund I Bone

Garlic knots heart of the
Sausage wearing the
meat corsage Superbowl
My sweet basil good soul
Grilling your bullhead
Pirate Ribeye steak pupils
Mr. "Billygoat" Bachelorette
Hair flat crepe Suzette

Moms Korean style fuss
coleslaw
what a seesaw
Playing Porgy and Bess
 Scarlet the red rare meat
Rolling stone baking pin
Mississippi one or two
Under my meaty thumb

Comes in three-4-5-6- Lucky 7
-Crazy 8 furries
Nine meat ribs-10 babies
with bibs
Hungry Man meat when!!
Country plaid tablecloth
"Kansas Men" of the cloth
The Pig approval
Kansas City Mayor
new arrival

Family together eating
Don't eat our animals
Why is life so unfair
Feeding the poor
with cans
The bad cut of meat devil
this is not the "Grade A"
This is not a ring
circus trainer Bullseye

Robin coffee animal-friendly
Two peas in a pod I pods
  I tune like Gods
Were the luckiest people to have
animals  

The Floridian with dog murals
Palm trees green thumb
plants sunshine events
The symphony dog tails
of hunts
Whats to compare her twilight
eyes hold the moment stare
Talk to the animal's hearts care
The barbecue all the meat men and the women who love their fruit listen to the Owl lady how she hoots those Kansas city slicker boots and the Hehaw have a good time with family and friends treat the animals with tender loving care
L B Jul 2018
An early evening gust
broke the back of the day's blaze
Still 90 degrees at eight
in orange haze
Sweat runs down my neck
Through the gorge between my *******
The wind lifts my linen shirt
runs its hands along my sides
reviving memory
of Forest Park
of a blanket in the grass

Where the pines trace
so many faces
Crackling popping kids
stolen matches, running
screaming victorious!
Blowing tin cans up with fire crackers
Bicycles, sparklers, fireworks at dusk
That whole afternoon
I spent hammering caps

Noise really makes us kids
really
especially
annoying

Mom wants us out!
Gone! All of us!
No needs. No excuses!
No cookies! No slices of bologna!
“No more Kool Aid!
Out now!
Out!”

That evening I tried
to dismiss the itchy sweat
of ******-sister-Suzy-matching-sun-suits
at Gino's family picnic
When some kid
(I don't know?)
between the rigatoni and the sweet corn
Some kid
tosses a sparkler
into box of fireworks
I don't know?
whether to cry or laugh
I was pretty scared
Rockets going off across the lawn
and onto porch
Craze of colors through the trees
Some at eye-level horror!
But the sight of Aunt Nedda
diving under picnic table
Stockings, garter belt upended
Capsized beyond her caring
of uplifted dress

Some images just stay with you, ya know?

July 4th always lands for me
on a firework's ***
"Caps"  are little red rolls of gunpowder dots, originally made to give a snap to toy guns of the 1950s.  We figured out that by layering them and using a hammer, you could get a bigger *****.
Pyrrha Dec 2018
You saw them suffering everyday as you passed by
So somedays you threw money in their little tin can
But their pain lies far beneath the surface
Homelessness is an illness that costs more than pocket change to cure
Starvation and injustice can't be paid with a full tin can
Their lifestyles cant be changed with ten thousand cans of change
Christian Ek Jul 2014
The band starts playing at a ***** and crowded backyard.
Rebellious youth gather to cast their vote with the stomping of their doc martin boots.
Beer cans everywhere, everyone's trying to let loose the raw stranglehold their society has produced.
The guitars go off and the ritual begins.
First they assemble in the heart of the pit.
In the center individual tragedies bring fourth the wrath of a God's army.
Anarchy you call it, Ha! I call it reassurance, reassurance that this anger is surely communal.

I never saw it more clearer, the youth's power to resist: If the government wont hear us, we will create our own sound even under the batons of fascism, we spit on your rule, your control of our art.

We wont bow down to a law with our names written all over it, while another politician walks free from corruption.
While another officer guns down an un armed child and calls it self-defense.
While suspicious mass shootings continue to occur and mass cameras grow in recording.
While you send more people off to war for another countries resources.
These thoughts explode out of me into shoves, screams, ****** cuts, reckless behavior, and then finally release. Pure psychiatric release.
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
Yogurt.
"I begin the day buying yogurt in a small favorite grocery store."
Not pizza, nor gatorade.

Bananas
although they are imported from afar and grown in monocultures.
Attract fruit flies in August.

Peaches
locally grown with rainwater. I ate all the farmer's peaches alone
stacking them by the railroad tracks.

Water --
rainwater, tap water, distilled water, carbonated water, spring water –--
deep gulps, infinite sips.

Nuts
in moderation, or not, unsalted, raw, replacing chips. His bowl
of filberts, almonds, walnuts quiet weekday mornings.

Edible plant parts --
roots, leaves, stems, flowers, fruit, buds. In olive oil
or butter.

Potatoes --
look online how best to prepare. Baked or fried. With a little
fish or meat.

Tea and honey,
play and prayer. Swimming and running,
talking quietly.

Bread?
Bread's possible as the Bible. Each is liable
to bloat your thoughts.

Wine and dandelions.
Dandelion wine's Ray Bradbury's story. Cans in a pantry, books on a
      shelf
to the end of time.

Pasta
we used to call spaghetti, never noodles. I wonder if I can remember
      how to make
grandma's sauce.

Tomatoes --
cherry, grape. Grab God's eye
going by.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
ˏˋDalPalˊˎ May 2015
It wasn't my first time drinking
But it was the first time the earth moved beneath my feet
The first time my head spun like a top and the ground made it harder To keep straight
Kings cup and mike's harder lemonade helped me achieve this Unwanted goal
Along with the memory of you

My feet slamming with every step and I try to think of you
I don't know why I do this to myself
Other than wanting to feel sorry for my being on a daily basis

But for the first time when your memory hit my head
It's like my mind put up a brick wall
Not letting you climb over it
No matter how hard you tried to jump over
No matter how hard I tried to pull you up
The wall got higher
And higher
Until I couldn't see you

And that's when I fell back
Through the fluffy clouds in my head
Into the bliss of my brain
And started thinking about those chicken nuggets in the freezer
As I mix some of that mango moscato with cheap illuminium cans

The sun's lining hits the grass

I lay on the couch
Remember how I couldn't even try to remember the pain
And liking it

It makes me start to wonder
If this unwanted goal is my savior from you
Or the devil for me
I'm just letting everyone know that this was like the third time I had ever drank and I don't plan on making this a thing ever. I've seen how alcohol has affected family members and I'd rather not put myself through that.
that mango moscato was like candy though.
Stephanie Irvin Sep 2013
I walked along the wire of Madison Ave
Wanting to be just like the movie
When I saw a girl reading poetry to a tin can
Strangers fed her one dollar bills
The ones with white sneakers just stared

I walked over puddles
Filled up with oily tears
Thinking of how I scream
So loud
And no one is ever around to hear it

This girl kept the rhythm
Skirting the cat calls and grime
I wanted to wrap around her
And grab hold of her mind
But I walked on
Too scared to hear the end

The rain doesn't stop
When we go inside
The rust just builds
On tin cans
And all of us search
For another tomorrow
unedited and unfinished
Vexren4000 Sep 2018
A stray,
Wandering softly lit streets,
Scavenging for food,
fighting for life,
Cats meowing and jumping trash cans,
Showing off Olympic skill,
For nothing but a meal.
Dogs finding homes,
Or abandoned by owners,
Lost in streets,
Hoping for a scrap of love.
Only to find more garbage.

©BAS
L B Dec 2017
A beer can, phone book, a grapefruit
and an Advent wreath
with four candles
in its nest of greens
Two weeks
Two lit
Third one's the Pink
a life three quarters spent?

Next weekend
Saturday-- The Sabbath
falls in Hanukkah

“Blessed art thou, Lord our God
King of the universe
who dost create lights of fire...”

I'll light that third-- the pink one
like a barbarian wise woman
who traveled too far along life's way
to find a Jewish baby, wrapped in rags

...or, was it the old guy that night
lying in the street
outside a New England bar

“Oh Christ! Ya gotta be kidding me!”

Nope, He was there alright

Wallowing in the freezing slush
amid his helpless drunken cries
No cell phones then
Scrapped my pizza plans

On foot alone
waving in frustration  
in the passing headlights
a turquoise, wind-crazed scarecrow
_

“Someone's gotta stop?
Someone has to help us, don't they?”
_

Now there are two beer cans
a grapefruit, and a phone book
beside the advent wreath

Third candle lit and leaning out
for hope along the way
In memory of--
Louise McDermott, my daughter's godmother who gave us the Advent wreath.
and Joannie Handleman, my best buddy in music and crime who taught me her family's traditions  and Yiddish expressions.
Robert G Page Aug 2013
By
rgpage

The cool evening breeze filled with a scent of approaching rain.
Caught by playful window shears
as it passes through an open pane, to reach their  
length and breadth toward the waiting bed.

He was a lover of music and his woman,
a passionate man with a sensitive heart.
She was in love with the melodic way  
his gentle fingers moved with sensual touch
over her soft silk like skin of art.

He started gently around her ears softly prying
them open with the quiet richness of her melodies.
Each note of his gentle kisses leading her to a sensual abyss,
easing her down from the edge, controlling her descent, to her goal.
Down the swirling dark and light blends of the music rendered from her soul.

She was his instrument on which he placed
his soft loving fingers, moving them effortlessly,
caressing her most sensual delicate keys…Each body part
smoothly rubbed added richness to her sensual sound driven by ****
and loving trust.  

Her ******* he fondled, licking and kissing, squeezing and rubbing.
Silently giving thanks, to her creator for such an amazing instrument.
Both of her hands with long slender fingers tangled in the long dark locks
of his hair as she eases her maestro’s head up tighter against her soft
beautiful mounds.

The loving melody continues with his touch now joined with the sound
of raindrops splashing into uncovered metal buckets and cans. The drops
carried on the breeze through the playful dancing shears came through the other end as nothing more than refreshing cooling mist.

Her body was his loving piano, and as with the 88 keys of his magnificent
Baldwin, the sensual areas of her equally magnificent body, when properly stroked,  filled not  only the bedroom but the whole house with the most glorious ****** notes known to man.  

After a while the symphonic ****** builds as he masterfully impales her with his instrument of love coming into constant contact with the one special key of keys. Its special sound as his strokes came harder and faster brought the whole master piece to a beautiful melodic end as the two lovers bath in the rain’s gentle mist…
Data Apr 2017
We have re-entered the plaza
and amidst the throng
blend as a smudge of colour—
[we are] vital, vibrantly swirled through the scene
[we are] psychedelic pink sugar lines
struck through white peppermint candy canes
In a moment, we come again…

But this artifice of joyful interconnection
is not as solid as it might seem
—by those ghosts we have joined hands
they, who coexist within this cable,
whisper
I can feel you, I feel you…

thinking…

O yes, I lived on the edge
in the age of america

(Bless us, Father…)

As he comes into manhood, I am born again, gleaming
with the blinking sheen of chromed Cadillac off my ****:
high-styled, immaculate, moon-dealt daydreams
etched on this shrine’s shiny walls,
screen-printed teeshirts
wild-flapping in dusty wind,

Too many flies
the stench of death
sprayed
on rotting flesh,
In the backseat & littering the roadside
a million empty aerosol cans

I, permitted to drop such a bomb… implode
settling… transubstantiated… postmodern
beyond death and life…
I, a digitised analogue
or microwaved noodles
seething like a can of worms—
i eat, i eat, but it is never enough…

O yes, I am the vanishing point
captured simultaneously on this 16mm Bolex
dyadic before, during, and after the singularity collapse.

We all got old, eventually,
golden ages paid for
with stoved ideals & broken-promised half-truths

At the end, we digitised handprints
and handshakes simply so that we
would not feel
each others heart beating,
or blood pulsing
or the wet damp of *** in our pants

In the end,
it was all about endlessly becoming
without noticing how or why,
In the end,
all I wanted was ice cream at Serendipity’s
and Sunday-papered propaganda,

Oh yes, I lay on the edge of infinity
staring at the fat Buddha’s navel
my breath connected to the breath of the stars
and I wondered:

I am, you are, but we, oh yes, WE!


__________________­____________________

by­ Data © 2017
Ode for Andy
Emily Jones Sep 2018
Somewhere between four cans
Of sweet metallic madness
I found myself dancing
Lost in the murmuring wave of a rasta beat
Leaning into the bounce and jive of the jammin swing
That made me feel the beat the bellow the warp of time
Closing my eyes to the glowing halo drunk on the feel of rain against my lungs
I did not care
I did not worry
And for a moment I was in no hurry.
" I ran into a homeless man with a bag filled with
empty soda bottles and cans.
They amounted to fifty-five cents, i
took them out of his hands.
I saw the anger in his eyes, as he began to
shout out his why's.
I quickly told him. "I'm here to help."
The fear went away, as he started to cry.
We talked on the side of the road. A
lost soul from the Viet-Nam war.
I too am a Vet. He now felt very comfortable
with every word i said.
I then opened the door to my car, asked
him to hop in, telling him were not going
very far.
I noticed his fingers, tanned from nicotine stains.
So i drove him to the nearest 7-11 asking what
was his favorite cigarette brands?
Kools was his answer.
We left, and drove to Mc  Donald's to buy
lunch.
We filled our stomachs, he lit a cigarette, and
said. "Thank you so, so much."
I asked if there's somewhere i can drop you
off? He replied." No, the outdoors are my home.
i'll be fine, and you Michael. You are one of a kind."
I do this, because it's the work of our Lord Jesus Christ.
"DO ONTO OTHERS AS YOU WANT DONE ONTO YOU."
It's such a blessing  TO DO!!!!!!
Leigh May 2015
The tide collects it all by morning;
The drama and the ***** napalmed across the path.
The scenes at second warning for most had been swept away
Before they wiped the sand from their shoes.

Empty cans of Dutch and Tuborg slouched on the dunes
Are tight-lipped about the Velvet Strand's secret ecosystem;
An underground microcosm;
A peripheral cluster of seething emotions drowned.

Memories of those years - although some expired,
The vestiges take pride of place - hold a cosmic clump of smells,
Tastes, firsts, goosebumps, hangovers, and ends.
I never before understood what I was holding on to.

Winters down in the shelters nearly killed us but we
Huddled through the cold, lit cheap firelogs and
Found our oblivion. It didn't take much for me to develop  
A stagger - tolerance for a lot of things was learned later.

I narrowly recall my first taste of poor judgement and
Hazy-headed stargazing. Six cans of Stonehouse
Dry cider - most of which ended up on the hillside -
Was a ridiculous endeavour that will always be sublime.

At the heart of it, I did it to impress a girl;
The one every boy has or has had that sticks;
Who holds your firsts and your hands and makes
Things simple if only for her complexity;

The one that never fails to bring upon digression when
Pens are involved. Revisiting reminiscence on a jarring note,
I think of my Junior Cert exams and a cross-dressed man
Exposing himself to two uniformed boys behind the public toilets.

This one doesn't stir the joy of the others.
This one I wish would dissolve;
An ****, awkward blotch on a childhood.

Luckily fondness trumps disgust when recalling that place
Because of sunrises and sunsets absorbed from the roof.
The Summers spent jumping the gap and drowning in the
Heat of the sun were everything.

The fugitive sand between our toes and under finger nails
Became an accepted nuisance, a part of the territory;
A lingering grain or two to drag you back.
I miss waking up with the smell of last night's faded fire.
.


Some weird and wonderful memories of my teenage years.

100 points if you catch the Derek Mahon reference.


.
often overfilled
for unwanted documents            
where ***** feast, trash cans
Nico Julleza Aug 2017
Feats of rocks in faking waters
eagerly I step, neither I drown, nor I fell
My hearts pounding to impel
surrounding daggers in hiding capote
True ones whom only knows
plastics, cans sailing away from a boat
Leaving you, an island unknown
and your feelings relentlessly changing
Till it’s time for a grand awakening
#You #Self #Realization #Grand #Awakening

We All Feel This Particular Mood That its Time For Us To Have a Grand Awakening of what we Really are and not to Be controlled by any Who.

(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2017
Edward Coles Feb 2017
The distant park
Was a graveyard of dead stars.
Each streetlight a system of worlds,
So many lives between each mote of light,
Indistinguishable in their unique love,
Bespoke hate, and the drama of the modern age.

Drunk laughter behind transparent
Double doors. Another hotel balcony,
Another cloud behind the canopy
Of marijuana eyes
To unsettle me from the crowd.

She points out, when you look closely
You can see the disorder
Amongst all constellations
Of life and love and litter;
Of discarded Coke cans
And temporary highs.

She says this is not a scene
To imbue the ****** of a present mind,
More to baulk at the incompletion
Of one thousand to-do lists;
A million reasons why
You should just stay inside.

She says you can see the human swell
Of ignorance, our city lights
Blotting out the stars
In a black ocean of broken politic
And irretrievable fault lines-
Divisions between us all.
Lives twisted with professional smiles
And eyes lit with stunning indifference.

Still, I have felt charity and warmth
On the doorstep of lunatics and fascists.
I have read the love of life
In faces of those who gave up.
I have recounted countless artists
Who saw beauty
In moments that precisely lacked it.

I have spent too many nights
In anaesthesia,
Fleeing each instance of feeling
And terror; all the tremors
That tell me I am still alive.

Continued to stare at the lights
Long after her voice
And the laughter inside had gone.

Heard waves in the traffic.
A world so large, so expansive,
It can never truly sleep.
Every broken heart,
Every war-torn land,
Every promotion,
Every one-night stand.

I wonder what would happen
If we all stood still.
If we all took one moment
To observe the motion
That unfolds beneath
Our static windowsill.

If we all took one moment
To recover our loss.
The wars that we won,
The feelings, forgot.
The **** we retain;
Our paradise, lost.
C
meGaThOr Feb 2018
I'm wonderful, this morning,
I was at the university;
I've already traveled through Kremenchuk,
I still held it as if,
says the hours in Chinese,
"xinquain, xianzai zi dian"

and  did not need it, booking.com,
to have a bed,
and neither lunch,
and neither cake,
here I am walking,
through the streets of Kremenchuk,
admired for having  many gets?
cans on the streets, on one side,
and the other, I we're stonished,
loved the weather,
of horses with plows;
and my bourgeoisie,

I am, like many others,
filled the streets with  many pounds ,
cans, I'm amazed,
is a phenomenon, not explanation;
be rich, from day to night,
I do not know how to explain;  
through the streets of kremenchuk
Adron E Dozat Feb 2015
When my wife finds out
How much I care for you
She will yell and curse
And throw things at me,
Then just scream "get out
And don't you come back!"
I will be a mess-
Sad, and full of needs,
You won't want me then.
I will lose the house,
I will lose my job,
And all of my friends.
I will walk the streets
And eat from trash cans,
And sleep in the park.
My food will be wine,
My drink will be ***,
I will have no name.
My dreams will be done,
Shot down by the cops
When they lock me up-
Since I beg for change.
I will tell it all
To the skid row men,
They will say, "Wow, dude.
She cost you so much."
Next they will ask me,
"Was she worth it?"
I will say each time,
"Yes, she was worth it."
To order my book of inspirational poems at Amazon, https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07HMFML2D
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